


Opening the Doors

by Hours_Gone_By



Series: Prowl Week 2020 [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One, Transformers – All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe – Magic, Alternate Universe – Soul Mates, Books, Cemeteries, Cuddling & Snuggling, Death, Determination, Developing Relationship, Dream Sex, Dreams, Dreamscapes, Gentle Kissing, Ghosts, Hauntings, Healing, Kissing, Love, Love across time, M/M, Magic, Magic Books, Making Out, Power Glows, Prowl Week 2020, Rescue, Research, Resurrection, Resurrection After A Fashion Anyway, Romance, Siblings, Spark-mates, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Supernatural Elements, Touch-Starved, Touching, Trope Bingo Round Fourteen, Urban Exploration, first person POV, soul mates, tombs, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23840053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hours_Gone_By/pseuds/Hours_Gone_By
Summary: A deceased spark-mate didn't mean you would never find love. Still, even though I had always told myself 'if were meant to be, it would be,' I traced the glyphs of the name a touch wistfully. I was saddened, a little, to know that I would never, could never, meet the one who was meant as a match for myself.The first time you see your spark-mate's name, the letters will glow for you. When Prowl finds his spark-mate's name engraved on a memorial plaque he feels regret, thinking they'll never meet. But an age-old act of spite and a twist of fate are soon to prove otherwise.
Relationships: Bluestreak & Prowl, Prowl/Jazz, background Bluestreak/Hound
Series: Prowl Week 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1709683
Comments: 24
Kudos: 101
Collections: Prowl Week, Trope Bingo: Round Fourteen





	Opening the Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prowl Week 2020. Prompt: Free Choice!
> 
> Written for Trope Bingo Round 14. Prompt: Power Glows 
> 
> Inspired by [Drabble 43 in Chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127481/chapters/47685505) of [Fifty Drabble from Fifty Prompts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127481/) and this writing prompt from [Promptuarium](https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2017/05/29/ancient-cemetery/):
>
>> In this age, when a soulmate's name is read, the letters glow.  
> On Halloween night, you and some friends explore an ancient cemetery when you get separated from the group.  
> Your flashlight runs out, and the glowing letters on a nearby tombstone become your only light source.
> 
> \---  
> Also! This is my 100th individual title posted on the AO3 and my 90th individual Transformers title. 

While I was fully aware of the existence of magic, no matter how diminished in this Age, I had never had the same amount of interest in the supernatural as my sibling did. Unlike Bluestreak, the thought of visiting a cemetery at night to look for ghosts would never have occurred to me. Still, I do enjoy urban exploration, and the idea of exploring the old tombs interested me when he suggested it. I wasn't interested in the 'looking for ghosts' part as he was, but I could have my own fun while he went off on his own.

Well, probably not on his own. He would likely bring his spark-mate, Hound, with him. I wondered if Hound knew he was bringing me along and what he would think when he saw me. After all, I was well known to be too logical for ghosts, though my love of exploration was no secret. We waited until nightfall, and then we travelled to the oldest cemetery in Praxus, seeking our adventure for the evening.

What would come of that night would be more than I had ever expected. Indeed, I feel no one could have anticipated what came to pass.

Before I tell you that, I must tell you this: almost every one of us is brought online with at least one spark-mate, a person or persons destined to be of import in our lives. While generally held to be romantic, this import can be for good or for ill. When we read the name of our spark-mate for the first time, the name itself will glow. Bluestreak had had a name glow for him, but a name had yet to glow for me. I was unbothered by this. If it were meant to be, it would be. I would not be the first mech to find their spark-mate too late, or to have come online far earlier than they, or – and this was admittedly more rare – to not have one at all.

I would like to say that when we got to the cemetery it was run-down, overgrown with crystals and cable-vines and that it looked appropriately haunted. It did not. The cemetery was old but well kept, and many – most – of the tombs had votives of oil and crystal on them. We are a long-lived people, and our dead are not easily forgotten, so this should be no surprise. If it was less 'creepy' than my sibling had expected, he didn't show any disappointment but scaled the locked gates instead. Bluestreak, who had picked up the skill of lock-picking from who-knew-where, opened the gates and let the three of us through.

We explored the section of the cemetery closes to the entrance we'd used, where the tombs were newer but certainly not new. The latest I saw was still a thousand vorn or more in the past. We wandered the paths, apparently looking for spirits, although I was not surprised when we didn't see any. Bluestreak was enjoying himself, though, reading the designations aloud and wondering about the lives of the inhabitants.

"Um, so, Hound and I were going to go explore the oldest section," Bluestreak said after we had all been exploring for a joor or so. "The one that has the big crystals lining the paths? Did you want to come, Prowl, or do you want to explore on for a bit? Because I know you like that and a lot of the places you explore, you have to do it in pairs at least for safety, but here you could be alone?"

"If you like," I said, suppressing a smile and knowing that the two of them wanted some privacy. For what, I didn't know and had no wish to find out, being close to my sibling but not _that_ close. So I let them go off into the oldest section while I continued to wander. The cemetery was sizeable, but certainly not so much that we would be out of each other's comm range.

The night was calm and peaceful, and I found my walk amongst the monuments to be relaxing, almost meditative. My path was quite clear, thanks to the light of the moons, but as I paused to examine an intricately cast monument, they were hidden behind clouds. This made no difference to me, as my night vision has always been excellent, yet I was confused because there was still a source of light nearby. Frowning, I turned and saw that it came from the monument behind me.

 _The name in the inscription was glowing_.

I was quite sure that these glyphs had not been glowing when I entered this row earlier. I consulted my memory files and found I was quite correct, but after that, my attention had been on the monuments on the opposite side. I would not have noticed if they began to glow as I walked past.

Slowly, I approached the monument, reading the name aloud as I did so: Ser Jazz of Staniz, Magus Secundus to Nova Prime. The name was not familiar to me, but I had not made much of a study of the ancient Primes, much less the magical powers of the same era, which were supposed to be stronger than those seen now.

A deceased spark-mate didn't mean you would never find love. Indeed, a spark-mate relationship did not even have to be a romantic one. There were those whose siblings were their spark-mates, to give but one example. Still, even though I had always told myself 'if were meant to be, it would be,' I traced the glyphs of the name a touch wistfully. I was saddened, a little, to know that I would never, could never, meet the one who was meant as a match for myself. I stood for a moment longer, then regretfully pressed my hand against the monument wishing we could have met.

"I am sorry, Jazz of Staniz," I murmured.

Almost immediately, a soft hissing – I thought at first it was a breeze – came to my attention. Soon, but still slowly enough that I did not jump, it resolved itself into words.

"…ask you again, why did you summon me?"

I did not jump, but I will say that I spun very fast to face the speaker and then…

I have a condition, of which I rarely speak, I suffer a processor crash when confronted by things that seem irrational or do not logically seem to connect. While I am pleased to say that particular affliction did not affect me that night, it was a close thing, given what – who – I was confronted by. A mech stood before me, where there had been no mech before, translucent and built in an ancient style. I automatically picked out the identifiers etched into his pauldrons and saw that this was, illogical as it seemed, the Magus Secundus. I thought that perhaps the surreal feeling of my surroundings, of having had the idea of ghosts given to me beforehand, helped buffer me against the strangeness of it all.

My next thought was that Bluestreak would be disappointed he missed this.

The Magus – Jazz – looked past me at his own monument, gaze seeming to fix on his own name, surely still glowing.

"Oh," he said softly. "I see. Well. Damn. Old Jhiaxus really did trap me good, didn't he?"

I didn't understand the reference. It was only one of many things happening right now I didn't understand, but this I could perhaps address. It took only a moment to bring the data on 'Jhiaxus' up from my memory banks; I had learned about him only briefly, and he had not belonged to a period that much interested me. He had, according to what I remembered, been Prima Magus to Nova Prime. I would have thought Jazz would have been his protégé, given their titles, but it sounded as if they had had a rivalry. Or, at the least, Jhiaxus had.

"I'm sorry," I said and meant it. "Did you – " Bluestreak had told me that one of the reasons ghosts existed was because they didn't know they had died. "Were you unaware you had died?"

Jazz's attention snapped back to me. "Dead? Oh, no, I'm not dead, mech. No, he didn't kill me. He sent me _between_. I'm alive, I'm just stuck here. Or I was until you summoned me, anyway."

"I – " I had no response to that. What did one say to someone who apparently was not dead but gave every indication of being a ghost? "I didn't mean to summon you. I-I only spoke your name."

"And touched it, right?" Jazz asked knowingly. "Yeah. Does a glowing name still mean the same thing in this time that it did in mine?"

"Yes," I said. "Your spark-mate's name glows for you the first time you see it."

"Yeah, thought so. I never saw a name glow for me, not even a glimmer." Jazz looked into my face, scrutinizing me. "Guess I know why now. You're not a magus, are you?"

"I have no more magical ability than the average mech," I confessed. Indeed, depending on the test, it might even be less. "I don't know how I brought you here."

"Well, you are my spark-mate. If anyone could summon me, it would be you." Jazz reached out as if to touch my hand, and I was sure I felt a small thrill of electricity over my fingers.

"I – " I shook my head. "This feels unreal."

"Yeah, tell me about it." Jazz looked me over again. "Don’t quite recognize your structure-type, but time's weird where I am, and my chronometer probably isn't working right. How long has it been?"

I told him. He looked sorrowful, lost, and I wanted to reach out to him. I wasn't sure if it would be welcome or even if it would be possible. Would he feel anything? Had I really felt that sensation of electricity?

"That's…that's a lot longer than I expected." He looked away from me. "Guessing Nova and Jhiaxus aren't around anymore?" I replied in the affirmative. "Yeah, well…probably couldn't have convinced Jhiaxus to bring me back anyway."

That immediately caught my attention. Jazz was my spark-mate, though I didn't know what that would entail yet, of course, given that he was 'between,' whatever that meant. But even beyond that, I could not leave a fellow sapient trapped as he said he was – provided this was all real and not some form of hallucination. Of course, while I had never seen magic, but there was sufficient evidence to prove that such a thing was, or had been, real. Certain signs and geometries that served as doors leading to…other places.

Doors opened both ways.

"Could anyone other than Jhiaxus bring you back?" I wanted to know. "Surely, there must be a way."

"There is," he confirmed, still looking downcast. "but even when I was walking around on Cybertron, it wasn't easy."

"Difficult isn't impossible," I replied, repeating something my creator had often said, and he grinned at me.

"Oh, I _like_ you! What's your designation, mech?"

"Prowl of Praxus."

"Jazz of Staniz, though you know that already." Jazz looked me over as if considering something. "So we're spark-mates, huh? Separated by time. The stuff of romances and all that. Not so much fun when it happens in real life, huh?"

"It seems not," I agreed. "What do we do now?"

"Gotta think about that." Jazz stepped closer to the monument. "This is the point where I'd do research into the kind of spells I'd need, but – " he waved his fingers through the edge of the metal. "There are a few problems with that idea."

"I'll help you," I said immediately, without so much as a thought.

"Huh." Jazz appeared to consider my suggestion. "Could work. Not just because you can still touch stuff, either. Spark-mate or no spark-mate," he made as if to rest his hand next to mine, where I had flattened it against the inscription, "you've got to have some aptitude for magic, however small, to summon me. It's probably why you're not freaking out right now, too." He looked at me curiously. "What're you doing in a cemetery in the middle of the night, anyway?"

"My sibling brought me, along with friends of his. He, ah, was hoping to see ghosts."

Jazz chuckled; it was a pleasant sound. "Are you going to tell him about me? I'm pretty sure you're the only one who can see me, though. I've never done this before, but that's usually the way summonings go."

"I've never done this before either," I admitted. "Not a summoning, not any kind of magic."

"It's the resonance between our sparks that let you work it, even by accident," Jazz told me. "I wouldn't go trying to call up the spirits of any other magi, probably wouldn't get very far. Plus, there's stuff listening you wouldn't want to meet, looking for a way in."

"I don't plan to call up anyone else. I didn't even plan to call you." Would I have, if I'd known it was possible? At the time, I wasn't sure, but if I'd known what was to come, I would have, without hesitation.

"Maybe not, but I'm glad you did. Especially if you really can help me."

I touched my fingertips to his spectral ones, sensing that small thrill again. "I will certainly try."

* * *

Of course, I had no idea _how_ to try, but now that Jazz and I had found each other, I did want to believe we would be successful. I say 'we' because, as it turned out, the connection between our sparks meant Jazz could appear to me wherever I was. He could not interact with anything physically, but I was willing to be his hands. The DataNet was nearly as old as Cybertronian society itself, but it had undergone changes since Jazz's time, becoming far more expansive, and Jazz commented on the availability of information. Even so, much of the information Jazz requested I search for was difficult to find. It was of little interest now to anyone but scholars, after all.

And, of course, my sibling.

I had told Bluestreak about Jazz, as I told Bluestreak nearly everything. He had seen something in the cemetery that night as well, but that is his story to tell. Bluestreak could neither see nor hear Jazz, but he believed me, and I knew he could be trusted not to tell anyone else. I told him what Jazz and I planned to attempt, and he immediately told me of several collections, held by universities and accessible online, that might hold what we needed. I did not at the time know the names of the tomes Jazz wanted, but it would be easy to get those.

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, Prowl," Bluestreak promised. "Both of you."

I smiled at my sibling. "I know you will, Bluestreak. We're both very grateful."

Bluestreak put his hands on my shoulders. "You deserve it, Prowl. It – being with your spark-mate is something special, it really is."

I had not waited to find my spark-mate before engaging in romantic relationships, but my forays into romance had been, well, less than successful. I appreciated my sibling's attempt to reassure me and hugged him. He hugged me back, of course: Bluestreak has always been free with his affection. He has also always been fascinated by the supernatural and continued to help us with research.

Deca-cycles passed. My days were spent at work, and while I still socialized with friends and my sibling as I had before, my free time was mostly taken up with Jazz. This was hardly a chore, and all our time was not spent in research either. Some of it was spent talking to and learning about each other, courting, I suppose, as best we could. I had occasionally wondered if my relationship with my spark-mate, should I have one, would be romantic or not: now, I had my answer, and it was 'yes.'

"You're doing all this for me, and you barely even know me," Jazz said one night a quarter stellar-cycle after we'd met, looking intently into my optics. "Is it just because we're spark-mates?"

"No," I answered, wishing and not for the first time I could take his hand, "not just. No one deserves to be trapped like you have been. But the longer we work on bringing you back, the more I want it to happen so that we can be together."

"That might still take a long time," Jazz cautioned me. He raised his hand as if to touch me, and I felt the gentle buzzing sensation that was as close as he could come, then he dropped his hand again. "There might be a way, though."

"Tell me."

"It's a thing called 'dream-walking.' You bring me into a place called the 'dreamscape,' a kind of private place in your mind that exists between the waking and the sleeping state. You make it work however you want, including just like the physical world you're in now. We can even touch if you want," he told me, and I was intrigued. "You'll have to let me in yours, though. You'll need to have a lucid dream and picture a door. Once you've got that, you call me to it and let me in."

"You'll hear me even in the dreamscape?"

"Ah, Prowler," the mech I was coming to love said, smiling warmly. "I'll always come when you call me."

I wanted so much to kiss him, but it was not possible. Not in the physical world, not yet. So, in addition to researching the ways to bring him back all the way, I found ways to induce lucid dreaming. At last, I was able to bring up an image of a room, a combination of my room and Jaz's description of his old workshop. There was a door, as he'd told me to picture. I opened it and called out his name.

"Told you I'd always come when you called," he said, smiling, stepping through the door and reaching out to me. "Let's see if we can – "

He took my hands, and I could see the moment he realized he was experiencing touch for the first time in thousands of vorn. Dream-scape or not, it was real enough for us both, here and now.

"Damn," he said thickly, staring down at our hands. "I hadn't – It's been such a long time. I didn't – "

"Come here, my darling," I said gently and pulled him into my arms.

Jazz froze completely when our bodies came into contact, then shuddered and pressed close to me, burying his face in my shoulder. My family has always been affectionate, and I had never lacked for touch, but I understood at least the concept of being touch-starved. I realized the extra importance of contact for Jazz now, and I wanted to give him what he needed. Right now, what he needed was healing, and I was happy to assist him with it, as best I could.

This was my dream, and so I could change it. I created a comfortable couch and sat us on it, cradling the magus, my spark-mate, in my arms, feeling him very gradually relax. That was how we spent our time together for nearly a deca-cycle: researching his retrieval until it was time for me to recharge, then curled up together on the couch in the dreamscape. I have always enjoyed holding him, no matter the reason, and it was no hardship to spend my nights like this. After almost a deca-cycle of nightly cuddling, he broke the pattern. He tentatively caressed my arm and raised his head from my shoulder to look at me.

"Prowl," he said, raspy voice low. I looked into his visor, acutely aware of his warmth and his body, and I wanted, I hoped… "Kiss me?"

"Yes," I answered, shifting so I could do that. "Yes."

Perhaps it happened during a dream, but it felt as real as life when our lips touched. I would have happily deepened the kiss, but I let Jazz take the lead, and he kept it chaste. For now, at least. When he was ready, I told myself, there would be more.

He was ready soon, deepening the kiss and shifting into my arms for a better angle. I moved to meet him, wanting…but again, I let him take the lead. Jazz was still vulnerable in some ways, though even then, I knew he would never admit it.

"Been a long time," he murmured, fingertips gently stroking the edge of my helmet. "Not ready to go all the way, not anywhere near that yet, but damn if I don't want to sit here and kiss you the rest of the night."

I, of course, had no objection to that, and so we did, sweet kiss after sweet kiss, until it was time for me to wake.

* * *

Our time together was always more than enjoyable, and I began to look forward to recharge because it meant I could not only speak with Jazz but touch him. The worst immediate effects of his touch-starvation seemed to be over with, but he still preferred to spend as much time as possible curled up in my arms. Indeed, I had no objection to this, only longing for the day we could do so in the waking world.

Sadly, it had begun to seem as if that day was a long way from coming. A stellar-cycle passed and, while we found references to the tome we needed, we were having no success finding its location. Worse, a mere copy would not do: one had to be in contact with the original book itself while speaking the spell, else it would not work. I worried that it had been lost to the ages or even destroyed, and we might never find it. Jazz never said anything, but I knew he feared the same. I also wondered if he feared I might tire of having a lover that I could not truly touch, whose existence I could not explain to almost anyone. Bluestreak, the sole exception, continued to support us and was still helping us as much as and whenever he could.

Jazz had nothing to fear, of course. I loved him, and I would continue to love him even if he were only a voice in my audial during waking life for the rest of my cycles. But I did not want him upset, and so I kept my own doubts to myself and continued to hunt for our answer. It seemed as if it took longer than one stellar-cycle, but eventually, I located the item we sought. Sadly, this knowledge brought us scarcely closer to our goal. The book, whose import had been lost over the centuries, was on display in a mansion, allegedly Jhiaxus's, that had been turned into a museum.

The museum was closed for the winter season, and in the tourist season it would be difficult at best to find time for one mech to perform a spell and leave, unobserved, with an additional mech. Jazz said that he might be disoriented on his return, but he should be able to use a simple spell to make himself unnoticeable. There would still be several nano-kliks, perhaps a whole klik, while he reoriented himself to the real world that he would be noticeable, however. The best way to avoid notice would be to somehow gain private access, but even that required a tour guide on hand, presumably to protect the artifacts. I could get in, but to touch something unobserved and get Jazz out…I did not know what to do.

"We'll get there, babe," Jazz promised me in the dreamscape one night. I was standing before a worktable, scattered with datapads and assorted equipment. Jazz had, patiently over deca-cycles, shown me how to recreate his old workshop. (He was particularly pleased with my reproduction of his stuffed alloygator, which hung on the wall. I did not understand the purpose of the alloygator, but it pleased Jazz to have it there, and so it was.) "I trust you to pull it off. You're clever, you know how to get things to work out the way you want them to."

"I've been called ruthless," I murmured. In my day job as a city planner, I worked hard and sometimes had to push others to work hard to get the best outcome for everyone. That was not the best outcome for those in charge, necessarily, but I flattered myself that I saw a larger picture, not just a larger bank account or more influence among my fellows. It did not make me popular, but it did make me efficient.

Jazz chuckled. "Magi aren't exactly known for their soft side, lover. Never have been. You don't have to apologize for that to me. Besides, I like that about you." His fingertips brushed slowly over my cheek. "I know you can be gentle, though. I like that about you, too. Like everything about you, actually." His visor darkened. "More than just like, Prowler, but I'm thinking you know that, right? I mean, I know we can't really be together when it's like this, but…"

I caught his hand in mine and kissed the palm, looking into his face. "I'll keep working to bring you back, darling, but you know I'll still want this, no matter how long it takes to retrieve you, don't you?"

"I'll always want you," my magus said honestly. "I want this, you, all of it, but…"

"It's enough," I insisted, pulling him closer to me. "My darling, it's more than enough here, with you…"

"Prowler…"

Jazz's hands cupped my jaw, and he kissed me, warm and very tender, even though I could feel how badly he wanted me. Our kisses heated, _far_ from chaste now, and his hands roved over my body. I was gently bent back over the table, but this was a dream, my dream, and I created a bed for us, let his welcome weight press me into it. I urged him down on me, taking him between my thighs.

"This your bed, is it Prowler?" Jazz wanted to know, dotting kisses over my jaw.

"Just a bed," I answered him, drawing him back into a kiss. "It's just – _I_ just want – "

"Yeah?" He was exploring my chevron, tracing the shape with soft brushes of his lips.

"You," I told him, arching under him and running my hands down his back. "I just want you."

"I want you, too, beautiful." Jazz kissed me again, stopping my reflexive protest that I wasn't beautiful. "Beautiful," he repeated, working his way down my throat. "Worth waiting thousands of vorn for. Can't wait for this to be real."

"It's real," I insisted, touching his sleek waist, filling my hands with the shape of his boxy hips. "You, here, is _real_ , Jazz."

And it was, it _was_ real, it was _perfect_. I could not have told the difference between the dreamscape and the waking world had I wanted to. My overload, when it came, was enough to wake me. I came out of recharge instantly in my bed in the physical world, my valve pulsing, my armour open, and my thighs smeared with my slick.

"Jazz?" I whispered into the seemingly empty room. I had never snapped awake like this before, never broken the dream like that and did not know what would happen. But it only took half a klik, and then I felt the electric buzzing presence that was my lover in the waking world as if he were lying in front of me.

"Right here, lover," Jazz murmured into my audial. "Prowl. My Prowler. You're one amazing mech, you know that?"

I wished I could take him in my arms right now. It was the only regret I had. "I should say that to you."

I felt one of his buzzing kisses brush over my lips, like and not like the ones we shared in my dreams.

"With luck, I'll make love to you in the metal soon," he promised me. "In the meantime, keep dreaming of me, yeah?"

I smiled, already looking forward to my recharge that night. "I don't want to dream about anything else."

* * *

The museum that held the book was privately owned, and I knew I would have difficulty convincing the owners to let me enter unaccompanied. This was, again, where Bluestreak came to our aid. My sibling is, fortunately for me now, a merchant. He used his network of contacts to coax (or bribe, Bluestreak is kind but has a ruthless side when need be) the necessary persons required to get us permission to enter the house. It was not immediate, and we would not have much time in the house, perhaps two groons, but it would be enough. It would have to be.

"I can't believe that I might be out of here and back on my proper plane soon," Jazz said the night before we were set to find the book and free him if all went as I calculated it should. We were in the dreamscape, and I was lying in his arms. Jazz was doing much, much better, but still craved touch. "Not that I don't love being here with you, babe, but – _Primus_ , I miss it so much! Hearing new music, partying, frag even fuelling! There used to be this place I'd go to get some sweet energon and these rust sticks…"

"Soon, darling," I reassured him. "You'll get to experience all of that again soon. It won't be much longer."

"I know." He brushed a kiss over my helm. "Don't think I don't appreciate every single thing you're doing for me, Prowler. I do. I just…"

"You want out," I finished for him. "You want to get back to where you were."

"Yeah. I know…I know it won't be the same. Don't know if anyone I knew back then is even still around, but it'd be good to catch up. If I can."

"Is there anyone you want me to look for?" I asked. He hadn't mentioned it before, but of course, I would look them up for him if he wanted.

Jazz was silent for a moment, thinking over my request.

"No," he said finally. "Not yet. Not until I'm really back. It'd just bug me more if I knew they were still out there, and I couldn't see them or talk to them. But once I can, then yeah. I hope I can, anyway." He sighed, then nuzzled me apologetically. "Sorry to bring you down. We're almost there. I should be happy."

"You're worried, my lover, that's all," I said, tucking myself deeper into his arms. "It's understandable. It's not easy to wait, not when we're so close."

"Yeah." He stroked my back gently. "It okay if we just sit here for a while, babe?"

"Yes," I said softly, and let my optics go offline. "It is."

I could feel how tense and anxious he was, but he didn't say anything more. He just held me, and I was happy to sit there and let him take comfort from my presence and my touch.

* * *

' _Are you worried, Prowl?_ ' Bluestreak asked me as we drove to the mansion. ' _Is there anything I can do while we're there or anything you need, or - ?_ '

If I had been in root mode, I would have smiled. As it was, I just edged a little closer to Bluestreak as we drove side by side, affectionately sharing his space. ' _No, Bluestreak, you've done everything you can, and we're both very grateful._ '

' _Oh, okay. I'm really looking forward to meeting Jazz, you know. I've been so curious ever since you told me about him and he sounds really nice. Plus, I mean, you're in love with him, so he must be something special._ '

I was, but I hadn't said that to Bluestreak. I hadn't even said that to Jazz, yet, just as he hadn't said it to me even though I was sure he felt the same. It was as if we were waiting until I'd genuinely brought him back to say it to each other. Fleetingly, I wondered if Jazz were present, driving beside me through a different plane or if he wouldn't join us until it was time. At least Bluestreak had said it over private comm instead of aloud. I didn't think I was ready to tell Jazz yet, not when he was still worried this wouldn't work and that I would tire of a spectral beloved. I hoped that soon we would be in a place where he felt secure and I could confess to him.

Once we arrived at our destination, I waited in the background while Bluestreak charmed the museum employee who let us in. Despite our permission to enter on our own, it was easy to see they were reluctant to leave us alone in the building. My sibling eventually got us our way, though, and we found ourselves standing in a massive, overdone, entryway. I had never seen anything so garish in all my life.

"Yeah, Jhiaxus didn't wind up Prima Magus 'cause he had good taste, that's for sure," Jazz commented. "Never saw this place but it's way worse than the last one I did see, trust me."

"I see why the owners were doubtful I was looking for fine art," Bluestreak added thoughtfully. "Maybe the rest of it isn't as bad? Plus, I mean, art is really subjective, isn't it? But I'm glad we didn't bring my friend Sunstreaker: he'd have a fit."

" _I'm_ about to have a fit over the gilding and those colours," Jazz said, even if Bluestreak couldn't hear him. "Where're we headed, Prowler?"

"The room I want is in the south wing," I said, addressing them both. "Bluestreak, we'll meet you back here."

"Yes, okay, Prowl. I'm going to look around a little bit just to make it look good, but you can comm me if you get back here before I do." Bluestreak put a hand on my shoulder, looking at me with a concerned little frown. "Prowl, I really hope for both of you that this works, but if it doesn't, I mean just in case, we'll keep looking, alright? There's got to be some way."

"Thank you, Bluestreak," I said sincerely. "We'll see you soon."

We left Bluestreak in the overly-gilded entryway and made our way to the south wing. The room we wanted was a workroom, or had been, and it was roped off to prevent entry. I ignored the clear wishes of the owners and unhooked the rope from the side of the doorway, making a note to myself to reattach it when we left. The workroom was less ornate and overdone than the rest of the house, although it was still filled with clearly expensive furnishings and equipment. The book we needed was in what looked like a ritual space against one wall, open on a display stand and under a glass case. The case wasn't locked in place, and I lifted it away and set it on the floor. It wasn't on the page we needed, but I knew which one it was supposed to be.

"Are you ready?" I asked my lover. He looked tense and anticipatory at the same time.

"Yeah. Just – " Jazz shook his head, cutting himself short. "Do it. Just – just touch the book. Say the words."

I wanted to say something, reassure him, but I couldn't think of anything. Instead, I obeyed, laying my hands on the book and speaking the words. I could feel – something. I could feel my lover's anticipation, hoping for freedom after all this time.

"Say my name," he urged, gaze fixed on me, the faint buzz of his hand on my shoulder. "Bring me back, lover."

I tried not to hope too much, it could still fail, but I completed the spell, speaking his name.

"Jazz."

It felt as if my systems all stopped, suspended for long nano-kliks while I waited for something to happen. I didn't know what I expected: sound, light, noise, a puff of smoke. What I got was an electric feeling in the air and the feel of Jazz's hand…

… _Jazz's hand on my shoulder_! Warm and solid and welcome and _wonderful_.

"…Jazz?" I asked in a strangled voice, afraid of being wrong. Afraid I'd wanted this so badly that I imagined things and it hadn't worked after all.

"Yeah," he said, and he sounded no less emotional than I did. His other hand gently turned my face toward him, and there was my lover, corporeal and beautiful, smiling tremulously at me. "Yeah, I'm here, lover."

"Jazz," I said a third time, in wonder, running a hand over his arm. He was even more vibrant here than he had been in my dreamscape. I said the first thing that came to my stunned, delighted, mind. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Prowl," he said, voice shaky with emotion, and then my mouth was occupied, and Jazz was in my arms.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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